Prologue

Harry frowned.

Today, he had been told to work in the sweatshops.

He hated working there, but what could he do?

He was an orphan like many others. No one wanted them and no one would buy them food. So he, like others, had found work.

It wasn't a fun one nor a good one.

No one liked working for the gangsters, and most people working under them didn't appreciate having to work for them. No one especially liked working for the Blue York Gang. Yes, they were "humane" as gangs go. Yes, they hired orphans when no one else would. Their work was hard. It was harsh.

However, there was no threat to his life or his continued existence.

So Harry pressed down on the desire to complain.

Complaining wouldn't get him anything. In fact, it might lose him the only job -the only lifeline- he had to survival.

He grumbled mentally as he put on his t-shirt and pair of nylon short pants before heading out to the sweatshops.

Just another day at work.

He jumped down to the bedroom floor with a soft thud only a child could make. He disregarded the still sleeping roommates of his and left the room.

It took him about half an hour's walk to reach his work place.

From the outside, it was a old rundown building with many broken windows.

And it was. The Blue York Gang was not a carpenter union or building demolishing contractor.

No, they cared little about the "outside" appearance.

Harry quickly made his way inside and passed through the entrance.

"AH!" he yelped when someone grabbed him by the back of his collar and lifted him up.

"Watcha doing here, little boy?" a deep baritone grunted from behind him. "This isn't a place for midgets like you."

"I-I work here! Daniel told me to come here!" Harry quickly replied all the while struggling to be put down.

"Daniel did, eh?" the grunt said as he put me down. "Well then, get going! I'm sure he'll be waiting for you inside." Then he kicked him in butt.

Harry grumbled as he walked in and opened the second door at the end of the rundown corridor.

The room on the other side was rundown as everything else. The gray concrete was exposed. There were cracks in places that made too many people wary of being in the building.

And then there were boxes and packages waiting for him and the other children.

"I'm the first one here?" Harry muttered to himself.

"Nope!" someone exclaimed before a hand shot out from the side from a stack of boxes. "We got breakfast here. Come and get it."

Harry quickly jogged over.

One good thing about working for the Blue York Gang was that even though they were harsh, they treated you like family.

They made you feel welcomed among them.

Before work, everyone got together and ate. Food was always provided for breakfast and lunch.

Harry quickly went around the boxes and found a small group. There were three other kids like himself and two more adults.

One of them was Daniel.

Daniel was a tall, lanky man. He was bald and had wrinkles on his forehead.

"Wotcher, midget."

Harry frowned. "Why do you keep calling me that?" he grumbled as he sat down where a small tray was prepared. The food on it was simple yet filling: a single, red apple, half a granola bar, a small bowl of porridge, and a very small package of fruit gummies.

Daniel just grinned. "Hurry up and eat. We got a lot of work to do today," he said as he ate from his own tray.

Harry sat down on the dirty concrete floor without much thought and quickly finished the granola bar in one go.

"So what are we doing today?" he asked.

Daniel jammed his finger at the other adult, who grunted and jammed his finger to a kid.

"Uh...I think we're scooping up the white powder and putting them in small ziplock bags," the kid answered. "We're supposed to wear masks? Yeah, we wear masks," he said as he pulled out a cotton cough mask from a small box off to the side.

Harry nodded. "Okay."

What Harry didn't know at the time was that the white powder that he was packaging was dangerous. A gram of it would kill fifteen people.

A single gram.

What was it?

...

Scopoalamine. It is not a famous drug in United Kingdom.

It looks like cocaine. Weights like cocaine. Feels like cocaine.

But a gram of it kills people by the dozen.

With a gram of it though...

It is a mental susceptibility drug. Once a man is drugged with this, he is open to any and all suggestion.

"Give me your money. Give me your credit card number. Give me your bank account."

Viola. It's yours.

"I'm going to fuck you so stay still."

Viola. It's yours.

It is the scariest drug imaginable. It is not even recreation-possible. It is sinister drug.

And Harry -with his tiny hands and a cotton mask over his mouth and nose- was handling the drug.

He didn't know any better, of course.

Daniel also didn't intend to have him be affected by it. All he had been told was that if he took a gram of it, the drug would kill him. That's why the masks were provided. He may be a drug dealer involved with gangs, but he had limits and morals -to a point. Taking advantage of Harry and others working for him was a no-no.

But one must remember.

One must always remember!

It takes a gram to kill.

Less than a tenth of that to influence.

Would a cotton mask be enough in the presence of a drug that strong?

No. It never would be. A hazmat suit would be considered "adequate."

But poor little Harry and his friends were right at the heart of it.

Scooping away. Packaging neatly.

Everyone, including Daniel, would die one by one in the streets after work.

But not Harry.

Oh no. Dear Harry scooped away, not knowing anything.

He left work like the rest and went home safe and sound.

And the first thing he heard?

"You're a freak, Harry!"

None other than Dudley Dursley, his cousin and the bully of the South London Orphanage.

And so, it was the birth of a freak.

Chapter 1: What is a Freak?

Harry woke the next day.

He sat up from his bed and wondered.

What is a freak?

The question wouldn't leave his mind as he put on his t-shirt and pair of shorts and went to work at the sweatshops.

There was no one there.

But Harry remained there anyway after the guard let him in. There was a bit of commotion outside, but he didn't care.

Why? Because he was plagued by the question.

What is a freak?

He sat there on the drug covered, dusty, and hardly ventilated room.

Finally, a guard came in -his hand covering his nose and mouth- and told Harry to scram.

So he did.

With no work to do, Harry roamed the streets, not knowing what to do. He passed by shops filled to the brim with chocolate-covered goods, fancy t-shirts, funny toys, and more.

But no.

He had only one question in mind.

What is a freak?

So when he came back to the orphanage, he asked one of the older kids.

"What's a freak?"

It happened to be a kid studying for his finals exam.

"Go to the library."

So Harry did.

He went to his city's local library, Sydney Street Library.

There, he asked the man at the front.

"Where do I find ..uh... freaks?"

The man misunderstood the boy.

After all, boys around Harry's age were into superheroes and villains. Boys were also hesitant to say what they liked to others, twisting what they mean.

Or perhaps the man was just weird. We'll never know.

But the man's direction was clear.

"Aisle 15B."

So Harry went once more.

He looked around the aisles until he found the place. It was a small corner of the library. There were barely fifteen books.

But aisle 15B is not what Harry saw.

No, it was what was on aisle 15A.

Specifically, he saw a book being displayed with its full front cover.

Unfortunately, Harry never told anyone what he read that day.

He read the book he saw.

Then the next.

Then another.

Another.

Another.

...

Harry was less than satisfied with his search when the librarian was behind him, because it was time for the library to close.

So without much thought, the librarian led the boy out of the library and told him to go back home ASAP.

Harry didn't. He loitered around the streets, trying to make sense of what he read.

He had to know, though.

So he returned day after day when the gang didn't give him work. He read more and more books to understand what he had read on his first day there.

Harry looked over himself.

He had all four limbs like any human. So he wasn't a freak that way.

He had the genital of a boy, a dick. So he wasn't a freak that way.

He had normal eyes, nose, lips, ears, face...

He was ... confused.

He had read enough books and understood enough that freak was.

But he couldn't see what was so "freaky" about him.

Still, he was determined to find out why he was a freak.

Maybe he was a freak under the skin?

Even though it hurt, the first thing he tried was to see how different he was.

Regular people had red blood.

He cut himself with a scissors. Red blood. No freakiness there.

He then cut deeper into his hand.

Regular people had red muscle. So did he.

No freakiness there.

Beyond that, it hurt too much to continue. Harry sniffed as he threw down the scissors.

How was he a freak?! Why couldn't he tell the difference?!

Next time, he got the courage, Harry dug a bit deeper.

And deeper.

And deeper.

And deeper.

And deeper.

And deeper.

And deeper.

And deeper.

And deeper.

And deeper.

And deeper.

And deeper.

And deeper.

By the time Dumbledore had sent out one of his followers to check on Harry on the boy's 10th birthday on one of their bimonthly checkup, Harry was gone from the orphanage.

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.

Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump, and the Grand Sorcerer.

He was a man of great intellect, knowledge, wisdom, power, and connections. None dared to harm him and even less could harm him...

Except himself.

In the past decade, he had invested heavily in attempting to find Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. The savior of the British Wizarding World had disappeared from his orphanage six years ago without anyone realizing it.

Albus had wanted to take the boy in himself, but the law had forbidden him because he was not the guardian to the boy. The legal guardian to the boy was the boy's godfather, who had betrayed the boy's parents. His godmother was insane along with her husband.

So they had no choice but to place Harry with his despicable aunt.

Albus had done his best to protect the boy and his only remaining family. He created Blood Wards (borderline illegal, but he got away with it), Utumary Ward (another borderline illegal ward), Ill-Intent Repelling Ward, and so on.

But it didn't help the family from muggle terrorists.

IRA, to be specific.

Apparently, Vernon Dursley had been donating to the local police in some heavy equipment -when he wasn't supposed to- in their fight against the then-infamous terrorist group known as the IRA.

IRA learned of this and made an example of him.

The bomb was supposed to go off when no one was using the car. Instead, it went off when the two adults of the family got in.

It made Dudley and Harry orphans.

But two years after becoming an orphan, Harry disappeared.

For the past decade, he had searched. He had poured literal tons of galleons -funded both by him, donations, and the Ministry- into this investigation.

Nothing.

The donations were starting to dwindle and the Ministry had already declared Harry a lost cause a year ago.

In fact, the Pureblood faction have gone so far as to say that it was most likely the muggles who had made their savior disappear. That the muggles had killed their savior. They roused the populace with their propaganda. Instead of pointing at the muggleborn, they pointed at the muggles.

There was now a huge dissent against the muggles due to the Pureblood's efforts. Even muggle parents of the muggleborn were not allowed to enter Diagon Alley or any other magical establishment or place of interest without the situation calling for legal defense.

Still, he had poured his own money into finding Harry.

And then a miracle happened.

Sirius Black had escaped and got himself exonerated of his crimes in Germany, of all places, and then in front of the International Confederate of Wizards, whose laws made sure that Black was freed and compensated for the wrong dealt to him.

Apparently, he had never been given a trial.

That personally shocked Albus.

How could that be? He had been assured by the Witengamot and then-Minister that Sirius had received the trial fitting of Heir Black.

Apparently not.

Sirius the Exonerated, they called him.

Now Lord Black, Sirius had also poured galleons upon galleons -not that he was ever going to run out of money- into searching for Harry.

Nothing.

And then the worst possible scenario happened.

Lord Voldemort rose once more.

Minister Bones, elected and chosen by the wizarding people of Britian, declared an all-out war against Voldemort stating, "No more!"

Voldemort, in return, had killed a hundred muggleborn and many half-bloods.

Purebloods too, in fact.

This turned the tide against him as people rose up to fight. So Voldemort did what he does best: recruit. He recruited as much dark creatures as he could from the mainland Europe, even reaching into Siberian Russia, and launched an all-out war with an army of a hundred thousand.

It was a true civil war in Wizarding Britain.

The war was then further compounded by the fact that a Russian dark lord decided to take advantage of the situation to jump in the war, taking over magical Lincolnshire.

Still nothing sighted of Harry.

Albus's eyes snapped wide open as he read the letter and the picture he had received for his mail.

The picture was that of a young man with a bag over his head being carried by two men dressed in blue and purple robes. There were many lacerations upon the young man. The picture seemed like it was taken from far away, so the details weren't clear as Albus wanted them to be.

To Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore,

I don't want to reveal my identity and I have gone many steps to see that I can't be identified, for I fear for my life and that of my family's.

But I felt the need to report this to you.

The bagged man you see in the picture appeared in our village five years ago. He was dirty and rude back then. He claimed that he was a "mage." I don't think he knows about the Wizarding World despite being a wizard himself.

A week ago, those Russian came to Bayersfort. I suspect that they were scouting out for their dark lord's expansion here in the Wizarding Britain. Actually, I don't doubt that. But before they could gather support, they were killed brutally by those men you see in the picture.

It happened when the Russians demanded in the middle of the town that we accept their dark lord's rule over our town.

The same men who killed Voldemort's supporters took the tortured boy, but in their attempt to do so, they dispelled a glamour that I didn't even know the boy had on.

I saw a lightning bolt, Mr. Dumbledore. The boy had a lightning bolt on his head.

They are still in Bayersfort and should be when this letter arrives.

Godspeed.

Albus floo'ed to the Ministry immediately.

He arrived at the Atrium where people were bustling.

He walked past them in a hurry, and most of the people there thought that there must be another emergency meeting taking place. After all, Dumbledore took a central role in this Second War against Voldemort.

It was indeed going to be an emergency meeting for the higher-ups of the Ministry, but what was different about this meeting was that the topic was going to be different.

Dumbledore reached the elevator and got in just in the nick of time. Then he cursed the elevator for its slow speed, which was shocking to all of his former students around him.

Once he was on the same floor as the Minister's office, he got off the elevator and sped off again.

"Amelia, this is an emergency!" he shouted as he barged into the Minister's office.

The woman had been in discussion with several aurors. The details of which Albus cared little about.

"What is it, Albus?" Amelia asked, quickly alarmed by the fact that Dumbledore had been so alarmed.

"Harry! We found Harry!"

At first, there was moment of pause in the entire room before everyone's eyes widened as the revelation struck them in the face like a cold, wet rag.

"Where?!"

"Bayersfort! He's been taken by some dark wizards! Hurry!"

Normally, Albus would have taken his own Order, but he didn't know anything about these people who easily dispatched Voldemort's followers. No, for a work like this, aurors were better because they could provide both the number, legality, and experience needed in a hostage rescue like this.

"Arlensowyer, gather the Fifth platoon and follow Albus. You must succeed!"

The blonde auror who had been standing to her right snapped to attention before apparating Albus to the auror department a level below.

By the time they arrived at Bayersfort, Norfolk, England, they found it burning.

The aurors could see the Death Eaters killing the muggles. They were quick to move.

"Arlensowyer, with me!" Albus shouted.

The mentioned auror and three others followed Albus as they quickly made their way towards the warehouse Albus saw in the photo.

A trio of Death Eaters ambushed them from the right with Avada Kadabra. One of the aurors took two of the spells to the chest and went down in the burning street.

Albus quickly turned and with an uncharacteristic snarl, swiped his wand viciously.

The very air around the Death Eaters pressurized to unfathomable degrees and caused the Death Eaters' lungs to explode within their own chest. They dropped like flies.

The aurors said nothing as they followed the most powerful wizard in all of Europe.

Then they reached the warehouse.

It was also burning.

In front of its entrance, the wizards wearing blue and purple robes were fighting the Death Eaters ... without wands. In fact, they were launching bursts of red spells that looked like balls at the Death Eaters.

Oh, the spell, though, however pitiful it looked in its nearly transparent red globes, looked were devastating on their targets.

One of the Death Eaters took one of the red globes to the chest, for the globes were too fast for him to dodge.

His entire chest exploded ... caved in ... and then disintegrated.

Albus was quick to stun these new wizards while the aurors took down and killed the Death Eaters. He grabbed the last conscious wizard, one of the blue and purple robed wizards, and shook him.

"Where's Harry Potter?!" he demanded with a shaking that belied his frail looking body.

He hadn't wasted time and money on searching Harry for a decade to lose him now. Not now! Not when he was so close!

Surrounded by fire and death, Albus must have looked scary to the aurors, because they didn't approach him.

The wizard he grabbed just laughed even as he gurgled in his own blood.

"May ... the ... King ... emb..."

His head fell backward and stilled.

King? Emb... embrace? Were these men some kind of a cult?

"Arlensowyer, search the warehouse. Harry has to be here," Albus said even as he moved forward to search the warehouse himself.

For several minutes they searched, even as the warehouse began to burn down.

"Professor Dumbledore! An underground passage!" one of the aurors shouted before he had to jump away.

Albus nodded. "Get yourself to safety. I'll take care of it from here."

The aurors looked uncomfortable with the idea.

Then Albus cleared all of the rubble blocking the passage to the underground with a single swipe of his wand. That rested their unease and they apparated away to join their comrades outside in fighting the Death Eaters.

Albus made his way down the passage quickly.

Once he was inside, though, he felt dread like he had never felt before.

He whirled around again and again in the dimly lit passageway with the fires behind him.

Things moved in the corners of his eyes.

Things laughed quietly -oh so quietly- into his ears.

Things looked at him, but he could not see them.

"What is this place..." he muttered to himself as he moved on. Then he was out into a much wider passageway.

The place looked like it was part of the old abandoned railway.

Yes, it must be one of the old abandoned railways!

... But why did the passage from the warehouse in Norfolk lead him to here ...

In London?

He turned around.

There was no passageway that he came through.

Warily, he looked around before he chose a direction that seemed to have the most dense magic floating and headed down.

'That was no portkey,' Albus thought.

Portkeys have a very unpleasant sensation that flips one's stomach.

What he just experienced was smoother than walking.

"Another freak."

He snapped his wand out.

"A freak like us is here. He dresses funny."

There was no one around him. He looked around, up, and down. No one.

"Ooh. Yes, he definitely dresses like a freak." 3. Observing.

"One of us?" Questioning, but didn't it call him a freak just a moment ago? 1.

"Freak, freak, freak!"

"Would the King accept this freak?" Questioning. 1?

"Old freak!" Insulting. That was 3.

"Freak here!" Odd. 4.

"Hehehehehehe! Freakie freakie freakie!" Insane. Has to be. 5.

"Maybe, I don't see why the King wouldn't. King loves freaks. He's a freak." Casual. 3.

"We're freaks!" Angry. 6

At least six individuals were around him, but he could neither see nor feel them.

"You can't find us, old man," 3 spoke, and all of the others quieted from their cacophony.

"...Who are you?"

"We're freaks. Those abandoned by the world above."

"Who abandoned you?"

"You know who, old freak," 6 spoke. "People who feared us. Stupid assholes who wanted to fuck with us!"

"Ignore him. He's high right now."

"I AM NOT HIGH!"

"Ignore him. Anyway, you act different. Same like those masked ones, but also different. Are there more people like us?"

"Like you? I would know more if I could see you," he replied.

"...The King will decide that. He's here."

Albus, so caught up in trying to analyze these people he could not see, was caught off guard. He whirled around with his wand out...

...And saw Harry.

His wand drooped a little, but he froze.

"The King will decide that. He's here."

Harry was this King?

Harry was dressed similarly to how the blue and purple robed wizards were, except he wore in white and purple.

"Harry-"

"Who are you?" he asked with half-lidded eyes. Despite being half-lidded, Albus could feel the power those emerald eyes held. The way they glinted in the light and the barely visible wisps of power leaking.

Harry was on guard.

He calmed himself.

"I am Albus Dumbledore. The Headmaster of Hogwarts and a friend of your parents."

Harry cocked his head to the side.

"Makes no sense."

"Pardon?"

"Makes no sense," Harry repeated. "My parents could not be older than thirty when they had me, but you are older than sixty or even seventy year old. But you are not lying. Your eyes tell no lies. So it makes no sense."

"We were allies in a war."

"Against?"

"Voldemort and his allies. They wanted to separate the wizarding world from muggle world. I've been searching for you ever since you went missing."

Harry straightened himself. "Why?"

"Because I need your help. A prophecy-"

"Doesn't exist. Mere lies conjured by those who think they saw the future of this world."

"Harry-"

"How did you find me?"

"...Someone sent me a picture of you being led away with wounds on your body."

Harry che'd. "I told you that wouldn't work," he said, and Albus knew the statement was not directed at him.

"Khahaha!" That was 5, the insane voice.

"Come back later. I have work to do."

"Harry-!"

And he found himself staring at wizards and witches on their usual errands in Diagon Alley.

Once again, he had been moved across far distances against his will without his notice.

Just what was Harry and what was he dealing with?

And here's a new story. This story will definitely not be updated at my usual pace.